


you can always find me here

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Homecoming, Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 04, Reunions, Softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: But now she’s almost unfamiliar to him and even in sleep, she looks exhausted. How long has it been? he wonders.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 29
Kudos: 250





	you can always find me here

When he lands, the balcony doors are open and a dying fire struggles to stay alive in the hearth of his fireplace. The Los Angeles night air is crisp, a welcome reprieve, and he takes a moment to inhale deeply before folding his wings away and stepping into the penthouse. Though he walks silently, he scans the space for the unexpected guest.

He finds her in his bed, tucked beneath soft sheets, now brown hair splayed over the pillow, and his heart tugs back to a familiar time, so long ago now, when she had been here before. It longs to pull him closer to her, to sit at the edge of the bed and wake her gently with a touch or a brush of lips against her cheek. But now she’s almost unfamiliar to him and even in sleep, she looks exhausted. _How long has it been?_ he wonders. Instead, he only brushes his fingertips against the corner of the mattress before he disappears into his bathroom.

In the mirror, he looks as haggard as he feels, ash streaked across his face despite the care he had taken to try and clean up before he had left. He runs the shower as hot as he can stand, takes his time scrubbing away the lingering cloak of Hell, ripping down the walls he had built around his soul.

Lucifer doesn’t know how long he spends there, but the early dawn has yet to creep over the hills beyond when he steps out. He dries himself and wanders through his closet, fingertips brushing against soft wool and silk, settling on pajama pants. Though he wants nothing more than to crawl beneath the satin sheets and soft blankets, feel them against skin that had not seen such softness in a hundred years, he doubts in this moment that it would be appreciated by her.

_Chloe_. The sight of her is like water in his desert, her presence an oasis in his life. A smile plays at his lips when he steps back out into the bedroom, watches the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. “I’ve done nothing to deserve you,” he says softly, easing his weight onto the mattress so that she might not feel it shift and wake up. Still, he keeps his distance, stretching out as far away as he can without toppling over the edge. He reaches out to ghost his fingers over her shoulder, feeling her warmth even without touching.

Sleep comes quickly, and she is the last thing he sees before his eyes slip shut.

But while he has cast the shroud of Hell from his being, it has not left him, and soon he finds himself on cold stone, the rattling of doors and the whispers of demons weaving a symphony around his throne. And they climb, higher and higher, digging their claws into the rock, creating footholds where there had been none, trampling each other until he feels them grabbing at his clothes, his limbs, the way they had pulled her from him and he wakes, thrashing, a shout on his tongue, and Chloe panicked beside him.

She looks scared and she’s scrambling, falling, falling? Lucifer lurches across the expanse of the mattress to catch her, to pull her back up and into his arms. But as soon as he does, she pushes him away. “Lucifer?” she says carefully, timidly, as if his Detective had ever been timid. Her hair is dark and soft, and bangs obscure her brows. No longer is she haloed in golden light, but then again, she had never been an angel. She curls at the edge of the bed, not close enough to fall again, but far away enough that Lucifer can only think of one word.

_Afraid._

“Detective,” he says. “Chloe.” His voice breaks when he says her name, and it tastes like honey and figs bursting on his tongue. “_Chloe,_” and this time it comes out a whimper, because he dared not let her name turn to ash in his mouth like everything else did. He’s trembling—and when did that start?—but she is here and she slowly reaches out to brush her fingers against his cheek, testing the waters as if she wasn’t sure of its absolution. “How long?” he says.

“You’re back,” she says at the same time, fingertips mapping the shape of his brow, his cheek, his jaw, trailing down his neck to settle atop the hollow of his throat. “This is real?”

_This is real, isn’t it?_ Outside, he sees the rosy fingers of the dawn, doesn’t know how long he has slept, how long she has been here. Lucifer reaches for her, and she shakes her head. He can feel the hairline cracks spread from where she’s touching him, can feel the spider webs canvassing his body, and he deserves this.

“Say it.” There are tears shining in her eyes, an ocean rising. “I need you to…”

And _oh, _things click into place because he doesn’t lie, especially not to her, but he had spent too long not answering the questions she asked. His silence, when granted, was all the answer she needed when it truly mattered. He covers her hand with his own, moves it to press over his heart so she can feel the staccato that builds there. “It is.”

Chloe bites her lip and suddenly she is pressed against him, clinging to him; she is his anchor, soft against his skin. Lucifer gathers her in his arms. Her breath hitches and her cheek is wet against his chest.

“How long?” he asks again. The scent of her shampoo washes the last vestiges of Hell from his nose, the feeling of her body beneath his hands scrubs the last of the violence from his skin.

“Two years,” she says. He would offer words of apology, but they wouldn’t do much good anyway. Instead, he holds her through hiccupping sobs. His own tears streak down his face, fall into her hair, and he thinks to something he had heard a child say once. That rainstorms were angels crying. Outside, the sky is clear, as dry as it always had been, but here in his bedroom, he wonders if the flood will rise.

She falls asleep there, curled against him, until the alarm on her phone decides that it’s time to wake up. Chloe burrows further against him before deciding the sound is annoying enough to try and squirm free from his grip. “Can you stay?” he asks when the noise abates, but Chloe’s wriggling continues. He lets her go and watches her sit up to stretch her limbs, rub sleep from her eyes. The sunlight paints her almost holy when she looks down at him.

“I have to go to work, Lucifer.” She sounds sad and he knows that life had not stopped, that she had to pick up in the aftermath and move forward. He reaches for her, and she takes his hand with a small smile.

“Well, then I’ll come along,” he decides, sitting up, but Chloe presses her palm to his chest. She shakes her head. Lucifer can only stare at her, as if whiplash had rendered him speechless. He wonders if it has.

But her touch is warm and not forceful. “I just…” She looks away, and he sketches her profile in his mind, the way her hair falls now, as if this would be the last time he saw her like this. As if she would go to work and want nothing more to do with him as soon as she stepped out of the penthouse. But she’s not finished speaking. “I just want you. To myself, at least, for a little while.”

“Oh.” Lucifer collects her hand and presses a kiss to her palm. “I suppose that can be arranged.” He wants nothing more than to have her to himself, wherever she desires, whatever she desires. If he has to wait until the evening, well, it’s far less than a hundred years. There are books he needs to get in order, a home to reacquaint himself with, and her, always her, to guide him there. He has no idea what excuses have been made for his absence, so perhaps the precinct would have to wait.

Chloe steps away and busies herself, pulling clothes out of a bag she’d left on the floor. She turns back to him, lingering at the hallway that leads to the bathroom. “Will you be here if I come back, or...?”

“I will be wherever you want me to be,” he replies. Her smile is the final balm on his aching body, the last shred of light he needs to be free. She leaves him with a kiss, and even when she is gone, he does not feel alone in this space. It is enough to start over. It is enough to start anew.


End file.
